Written as a one-shot, but has a sequel, Fire. Theme is "Uniform."
Nationals his first year in high school, Ryoma slouches on the bench at courtside, a small figure in a faded Seigaku jacket that's still a size too large. No one denies his right to the coach's position; Oishi is a good and conscientious captain, but even the most out-of-the-loop schools know that Echizen is the name to watch.
He knows that he looks strange, wrapped like a child in a three-year-old middle-school club jacket. He doesn't match his senpai, who all wear the pristine white-on-blue of the High School team, and it's not the first time; Ryuzaki-sensei has long since given up trying to argue him into proper uniform.
Cameras flash from the crowd as Kikumaru-senpai and Oishi-senpai shake their opponents' hands over the net. Ryoma ducks his head, taking a deep breath of the half-imagined scent that cannot possibly still be clinging to the fabric. Not if you believe in logic, not after three years.
Three years since that last, explosive game. Almost as long since Tezuka-buchou hung up his jacket for the final time, a look on his face that kept everyone at a distance. Afterwards, Ryoma appropriated it from the clubroom as one last physical reminder of the only person he has ever called captain.
Whispers of therapy, medical advice; the disbelieving stares of the team� Ryoma wonders whether he would have the courage to do as Tezuka-buchou had that year, to sacrifice every hope and possibility, every match yet to come, for one last moment of glory. Nationals has never been his dream, though. Ryoma wants it all, he wants the world, and he still remembers the remoteness on Tezuka-buchou's face that last day. They could have given me three years, with care. I chose Seigaku, for the Nationals and a promise.
Ryoma hasn't spoken a word to Tezuka-buchou since. Occasionally their eyes meet in the halls, and Ryoma always looks away before his heart can betray him.
Because even now, he is still wishing for one more match, one more chance to burn in the way that after twelve years built around tennis, Tezuka-buchou was the first to show him. That, or to drag the older boy up against the nearest wall and kiss him until the ache vanishes from his eyes. The bitterness returns when Ryoma remembers that he will never have the opportunity for either; that Tezuka's last match was played three years ago, and against another.
Singles One is called; Ryoma shoves himself to his feet and shrugs off the comfort of Tezuka-buchou's jacket, laying it carefully over the bench. Oishi-senpai gives him a worried and sympathetic look as he leaves the court, but Ryoma ignores him. Now is for the match, the game, the struggle to reach higher.
Still, pivoting on the baseline with ball in hand, Ryoma pauses for a moment, instinctively searching the crowd as he does at every tournament. As he tosses the ball to serve, he already knows that this game, like every other for the last three years, will fall short of whatever it is he's seeking. The glimpse of fire and magic he'd been shown that day beneath the tracks now seems barely a spark, diminishing as each challenge falls short. He's no longer a child, and he never did believe in miracles, but for the sake of his captain he will give Seigaku one last legend; a name to remember in Tezuka-buchou's place.
His racquet slices the air in a perfect arc, and Ryoma tries again to make himself forget the weight of that three-years-gone gaze, stern at the courtside and always demanding more.
It doesn't work. It never will.